Fashionably Flawed

by Robyn Peterman

  I watched them leave and then turned on my mother. “This had better be good. I’m working under a time crunch at the moment and a visit to Narnia wasn’t on the schedule.”

  “It’s Nirvana, young man. Narnia is fiction. And you will watch your tone with me,” Mother Nature hissed.

  With an annoyed sigh and a few mumbled curses, I took a seat on a trillion year old log surrounded by ferns sprouting blossoming pink daisies and waited. I was here. I would hear what the nut bag had to say and then resume my mission. However, my attitude would stay shitty. Period.

  “Who is Blade Inferno?” she inquired as she sat on an intricately carved log across from me and clasped her dainty hands in her lap.

  “I am,” I snapped, moodily. “It’s my pen name.”

  “I like it.” She nodded and smiled. “Very fitting—sharp and hot blooded.”

  “Clearly I’m not here to discuss how desirable and good looking I am. What gives?”

  Mother Nature stared at me long and hard. “Fate dropped by. She said she had a little meeting with you and you were incredibly rude.”

  “And your point?” I ground out.

  “Well, I was just wondering what she had to say. It’s not often you would seek her out. I mean no one wants her as a dinner guest anymore, not after that time she got drunk and started sharing all sorts of ghastly sexual secrets about everyone. I was certain Catherine the Great was going to positively explode. I mean, her horse was there and everything.”

  “While I find that comical in a disgusting sort of way, I have no time for gossip. I have things to do.”

  “Tell me what Fate said. Let me help you,” my mother insisted, all of her usual posturing gone.

  Why in the Hell was everyone wanting to help me lately? It was unacceptable and made me think my demise was far closer than I’d originally thought. Goddamn it, I was seriously close to a panic attack. The last time I had one of those Mount St. Helens exploded.

  “I don’t need help,” I hissed. “I need to figure out what the old hag meant.”

  “She always means far more than she actually says,” my mother reminded me. “Damned pain in the ass talks in riddles—total nightmare.”

  My mother’s eyes were warm and her smile made me feel like a total shit. Could she shed any light on my impending doom? Only one way to find out…

  “Fate said darkness is coming for me and I have to embrace it,” I said tonelessly.

  “What in the Hell does that mean?” my mother screeched as mini explosions rocked her gardens. “I swear on my grandson Jesus, I’m going to kick Fate’s interfering ass into a realm with no alcohol. That will show her not to mess with my baby.”

  “While the sentiment is lovely and alarming, do you have any clue what she meant?” I asked.

  Mother Nature stood and began to pace. With every step she took, flowers in rainbows of color appeared, making the garden look like it was on steroids… or acid. She paced circles until I felt dizzy. Why did I think she could help me? My mother had a zoo and stripper poles all over her property.

  “The darkness represents something—but doesn’t necessarily mean death—although it could. However, I would think the drunken old cow might have warned a few more of us if the world was coming to an end.”

  “She didn’t warn me, mother,” I reminded her. “I went to her. I’ve felt the darkness for a while. And my fire doesn’t purge me anymore.”

  “Your fire doesn’t cleanse your sins and pain anymore?” she asked, shocked.

  “No. It doesn’t,” I replied tersely.

  “That’s a rather huge problem. Why don’t I know any of this?” she demanded in a shrill voice. “When you were a little boy you told me everything. If you’d return my calls once every few decades, I’d know what’s going on in your life. I would have made you a cake, damn it.”

  “A cake solves nothing.” I tried not to gag at the thought of her cooking anything for me. I wasn’t sure how my father did it. Maybe Sprites had no taste buds. “I’m just going to plow on and when the darkness shows, I’ll destroy it. I’m quite adept at destroying bad things,” I added with pride and no humility whatsoever.

  “Is that why the girls are with you?”

  I paused and attempted to figure out why I had let them come. I suppose it boiled down to wanting company. Very selfish and very typical of me. However, this time my actions didn’t sit well. If the end was coming, they should be with those they cared most about—not with me.

  Easily solvable. After the soul-selling Mermaid was headless and gone, our field trip was over. I would send the girls on their way and deal with the rest on my own… just as I’d always done. I was a fucking island.

  “Yes, that’s why… but you’ve made me rethink the wisdom of it,” I told a surprised Mother Nature. “It was their decision, but it’s a bad one.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t fated?” she asked wisely, giving me pause.

  Was it? I didn’t know. Hell, I didn’t know much at the moment. I only knew I wanted to leave here immediately. It was not good for my attitude to get maudlin or sentimental. Being on my game was of utmost importance right now. Weakness could be used against me.

  “Do you believe in pre-destiny, Mother?”

  “Interesting you should ask,” she said. “Your brother gave man free will, so I believe the humans can shape and reshape their own destinies. However, for us? I have no answer for that one. We were in existence before rules were made. We made our own and we have to live by them.”

  “That’s the most lucid thing I’ve ever heard you say,” I muttered with a chuckle and a shake of my head. “So our futures really are in the hands of Fate?”

  “Possibly,” she nodded and gave me a small smile. “However, knowing that what lies ahead of us is determined by that inebriated raging alcoholic bitch is a bit disconcerting.”

  “Do you really blame her?” I asked.

  “For being a bitch? Yes.”

  “No, for blurring the pain of knowing all.”

  My mother sat down next to me and took my large hand into her smaller one. Tracing the lines on my palm with her slim finger, she sighed. “Yes, I blame her for drinking on the job. Our positions are monumental and the responsibility can overwhelm and create irreparable holes in our psyche, but we were chosen for a reason.”

  “If someone had given you the choice—the actual choice—would you have taken it?” I inquired.

  Without missing a beat, she giggled and laid her bouncy red curls on my shoulder. “Absolutely. There is no one better than me. I’m practically perfect. Heaven and Hell forbid if someone else had gotten my job.”

  “And your ego is large,” I said with a laugh.

  “As is yours, my child. Would you have taken the job if you’d been offered a say?” she asked, turning the tables right back on me.

  I nodded slowly as a smile pulled at my lips and relief washed over me. “There have been days during the millions I’ve been alive that I might have answered differently. But when you’ve been in existence as long as I have, days are mere blips. What I do is as important as what your other son does—maybe more. Without me, there is no him. We’re two sides of the very same fucked up coin. Without me, there is anarchy. Ultimately, I may be the reason for peace—not that I would share that tidbit—might ruin my reputation.”

  “You’re pushing it a little,” she said dryly.

  “Not at all,” I said with total and well-deserved conceit as far as I was concerned. “I’m fucking Satan.”

  “Oh my! Can you do that?” she asked shocked and possibly the slightest bit impressed.

  Letting my head fall to my hands, I barked out a laugh. “I really have to stop using that line. And no, I can’t fuck myself… literally speaking.”

  “That’s probably a good thing. You’d never come out of Hell if you could,” she said with a sage nod that made my laughter increase. However, she was correct.

  “You’re the badass sheriff,” she insisted with
a delighted grin. “Nothing exists in its purity—not good and not evil. There are shades of gray and blinding color everywhere and that can only be because you and your brother are doing the very best you can.”

  “Sometimes the best isn’t good enough.”

  “Sometimes the best is all we have,” she pointed out.

  Circles. Eternity was made up of unending circles. Occasionally, I was envious of the humans. Live for a small stretch, choose your own destiny, and then pay for it in the afterlife. Mostly, however, I was delighted to be me. I mean who wouldn’t be? Envy was a trait that I enjoyed on a fairly regular basis. I’d even named one of my daughters Envy. Of course she was a royal pain in my ass, but that was exactly how I liked it.

  “This talk is over,” I said, standing up and stretching my long legs. With a slight tilt of my head I called to my wings.

  In an eerie whisper on the wind the black magic roared through my body and my wings burst from my back in all their mystical glory. Glittering black mist floated through the gardens sparkling like death. It was gorgeous. I felt free and evil and pretty damned fantastic. It was good to be me. I simply now needed to make sure I could still go on doing it.

  “Thank you for your time, Mother. I actually enjoyed it, much to my surprise.”

  Her opened mouth shock and inability to speak amused me. Maybe I’d stop by more than once every century… Nah. Once every hundred years or so was enough. I certainly didn’t need her crazy rubbing off on me. I was unbalanced enough as it was.

  “Astrid. Tiara,” I called to my nieces. “It’s time to go. We have a Mermaid to drown.”

  “Coming,” they yelled.

  I air kissed Mother Nature and gave her one of my patented devastating grins.

  “Goodness, you’re such a beautiful man. I feel so inspired. I want to pole dance. Would you like to join me?”

  “Umm… no. Never, actually, but… ah… thank you for asking. I have a Mermaid to behead and some nieces to get home. And then I shall meet my fated destiny and obliterate it. Lots to do.”

  “You’ll be great,” she trilled as all the flowers in the garden burst into song.

  This was far too much happy for me to deal with. I needed to leave before I broke out in a rash. I couldn’t risk it. I needed to look good for my headshot.

  “Remember,” Mother Nature called out as I took to the sky. “There is usually more than one meaning to a word. Pay close attention to the words, I think that’s the key.”

  “Good talk?” Astrid inquired as she floated in the air next to me. My Vampyre-Demon niece didn’t need wings to fly. Her power was indeed rare.

  Tiara’s wings were black, red and silver—very impressive. However, mine were better.

  “Good is a relative term,” I said with a shrug. “Informative? Possibly.”

  “Sometimes mothers know best,” Tiara said, sounding far older that her years.

  “Not mine,” Astrid said with a grunt of disgust.

  “Or mine,” Tiara added with a shudder that made her wings flap wildly in the wind. “But that doesn’t mean Mama Nature doesn’t know a few things.”

  “Chicago. Now,” I commanded, effectively ending the conversation. But they gave me something to think about.

  Maybe… on very, very rare occasions, mothers did know best. I was about to find out.

  I would listen for the words. The double meanings in the words.

  Chapter Nine

  “Absolute bullshit,” I shouted as I hurled my cell phone at the brick wall and watched it shatter into pieces. “Those bastards are trying to screw me over. No one screws the Devil and lives to tell.”

  Standing atop a tall building in the blinding Chicago morning sun, I did everything I could to keep from blowing up the Windy City. The bad day kept getting worse. Throwing my cell phone wasn’t going to solve anything, but it had certainly felt good.

  “No wonder you can’t keep a girlfriend,” Astrid commented dryly, smoothing out her clothing from our midmorning flight. “If the price of playing hide the salami with Satan is death, I can see how that might not appeal to the ladies.”

  “For the love of everything reprehensible, if you keep purposely misunderstanding me I will incinerate every ceramic Baby Jesus you own,” I grumbled. With a wave of my hand I repaired my shattered phone so I could throw it again. Destruction was so therapeutic.

  “I’ll buy more Baby Jesuses,” she threatened disrespectfully with a shrug and a wide grin.

  “Fine,” I shouted, still trying to get a grip on my itchy trigger finger. Blowing off steam over ridiculous Christmas ornaments was actually relaxing. It kept me from leveling a city, another point for Astrid. “I’ll put permanent erections on all your nut crackers and oozing warts all over your truly frightening life sized Santa.”

  “You will not defile Santa,” she shouted beginning to spark like a firework.

  “And I’ll give all your cute little elves size triple F bosoms—enormous bosoms with tassels.”

  “Oh my Hell in August,” Astrid choked out, bent over with laughter.

  She was no longer sparking menacingly—she was laughing at me. What in the ever-loving Hell was happening here? Whatever it was, I did not like it.

  “No one says bosom. Only losers say bosom,” she choked out through her giggling.

  “She’s right,” Tiara agreed. “And I’m a lesbian. I would know.”

  Was this correct? I’d used the term bosom constantly over the centuries—never had a problem with it. Damn it, maybe they had a point. It was an odd word.

  “How did this even start?” I demanded, completely thrown off my game and trying to regain some ground to be the Devil in charge again. Hurling my repaired phone at the wall did the trick. And just for good measure, I called on a wake of buzzards to swarm the city. That would definitely make the evening news.

  “Umm… not sure,” Astrid said, squinting her eyes in thought and hiding her own cell phone. “You threatened my Baby Jesuses and then…”

  “And then he threatened to give your nutcrackers chubbies and freely admitted that banging Beelzebub ends in loss of life—total buzz kill,” Tiara offered, laughing through the entire explanation while also covertly tucking her phone away.

  “I do not know why I thought bringing you two was a good idea,” I muttered. I ran my hands through my hair while watching the screaming people on the street dodge the dive- bombing buzzards. Delightful.

  Glancing around the barren gravel roof of the skyscraper, I considered blowing a hole in it for fun, but decided against it. Not knowing what was below gave me pause.

  “Who is screwing you over? Santa?” Tiara asked as she fiddled with the sunglasses I’d made her wear so she appeared to be blind.

  Not knowing the species of the soul seller was dangerous—not for Astrid or me, as we were True Immortals. However, Tiara could be vulnerable to Sirens, Mermaids and several other unsavory species, hence the glasses that would protect her eyes—the window to the soul and favorite place for Mermaids and Sirens to draw victims in. The chance that the soul seller was a Siren was next to nil. They’d been extinct for several thousand years, but I refused to take chances with my nieces—even ones that made my ears bleed. Tiara was a blind woman walking, but she wouldn’t be a dead one on my clock.

  “No, Santa didn’t screw me over. He doesn’t even exist. However, if you rearrange the letters in the fat fictional bastard’s name you get Satan. I find that very interesting… What the Hell am I talking about?” I shouted. Being with these girls confused the Hell out of me.

  “Umm… you were going to tell us who screwed you over,” Astrid reminded me.

  “Oh, right,” I said, happily regaining a modicum of composure. “The New York publishing industry is trying screw me over. Did you know that a woman named Janis Evenwitch got an eighty-nine million dollar advance for her book and those cheapskates only want to offer me a paltry fifty million?”

  “Janet Evanovich,” Astrid corrected me with an expert
ly delivered mini eye roll that was almost more effective than the one where I was sure she could see her backside.

  “No, I’m sure my agent said Janis Evenwitch,” I replied, trying her eye roll on for size.

  “Then you need a new agent,” she shot back, clearly unimpressed with my attempt. “Janet Evanovich is a freakin’ goddess. I’ve read everything she’s ever written, twice. I’d read the mother humpin’ phone book if she wrote it. Who in the ever loving Hell is your agent if he doesn’t know who’s the highest paid romance writer in the world?”

  “He’s fired. That’s who he is,” I snapped, wondering why I’d thought having a Gnome for an agent was a good idea. They were clearly hard of hearing and tended to be violent in negotiations. Normally a bit of bloodshed was helpful, but maybe not in the book world. Humans were such babies.

  “What will you do?” Tiara asked as she ran into a large air vent.

  Pausing for a brief moment, I thought it through. Thankfully something heinous and unethical came to me immediately.

  “I’ll simply funnel the money for my advance into the hands of the correct person who will put it right back in my pocket,” I explained as I conjured up a new phone and texted my soon to be dismissed representative. “Then I’ll have it called into all the financial news organizations and Blade Inferno will soon be known as the highest paid romance author in the world.”

  “Dude,” Astrid gasped, grabbing Tiara before she walked off the edge of the building we’d landed on. “The book sucks ass. You really shouldn’t do that.”

  “The book does not suck ass,” I told her in a clipped tone. “My life story is riveting.”

  “That’s one way to put it,” Astrid conceded with extreme hesitation. “But it’s not edited or anything. I mean, I just typed exactly what you said. I never went back over it. It’s filled with more fucking cuss words than I’ve ever heard of in a book.”

  “No worries,” I assured her. “That son of a bitch, Hemingway owes me. He’s editing as we speak.”

  “Ernest Hemingway is editing your semi-autobiographical romance?” Tiara asked, slack-jawed. “Hemingway lives in Hell?”